Although my neighborhood may not seem at first glance like it has much to offer, it serves as crucial element in the molding of my character. I may not live within the ideal American neighborhood community, where houses are finely decorated with-warm colored bricks and smooth granite finishes. In the driveways of each individual house, it is paved with smooth black concrete that scorches underneath the sun. The houses identical in layout, only varying slightly in color and size. The smell of fresh cut grass and salty chlorine linger so heavily in the atmosphere, that each time you drive along their winding streets it reminds me that I am are exclusively in the area of the wealthy. However, my neighborhood it's not the fine residential community everyone dreams so eagerly to have. My neighborhood is the domain of the hard working, who are steadily climbing their way up the financial ladder. Regardless, Cottage Street offered what the gated community lacked, and that was the aspects of strong relationships and diversity. The neighborhood sheltering vibrantly diverse ethnicities and personalities. The neighborhood itself is not only responsible for forming the first close relationshionships you encounter, and the memories made along the way, but my neighborhood also has the ability to define special characteristics about yourself, exposing you to other customs and beliefs.

Cottage street displays a special beauty that many outsiders fail to acknowledge. During daylight hours the sun streams through an array of green leaves that hang carelessly from the many oak trees aligning the sidewalk. When the sun sets the colors of the sun bleed across the horizon and shine through the window panes, spilling across the walls and floors, filling the houses it invades with warmth. And as the seasons gradually change, the essence of beauty Cottage Street showcases prevails. From the crisp fall air and colorful leaves, to brisk cold winters where snowmen and angels populate everyone's lawn. Kids of all ages race and holler up and down the streets, beaming with excitement to go and play. Adults and elders perched out on porches, chit chat amongst themselves as their children run free. The streets are uplifting and high spirited from when the sun creeps up over the horizon, to when it slowly fades behind it.

By the age of 6 I recurrently learned that no matter what you looked like, no matter where you came from, how you talked or how you dressed, that everyone is equal and deserves to be treated that way. Naturally, I made friends with kids of all types, from door to door. I accepted you as you were. As you moved from house to house along the rambunctious streets, each household told a different story amongst my own. It was it’s own community of unique people, shared beliefs, and distinctive morals. It became a community surrounded with values and a foundation for nurturing future generations of adolescents. The neighborhood of people I grew to love were all distinguished and held together through the struggles and the strengths. There was differentiation of language, income, identity, and culture that all flourished within my neighborhood. Us children valued and relied on each other, for things as ever so simple as playing an exhilarating game of tag.

Instinctively, I learned tremendously from my elders and peers within my community. I remember vividly of the first time I rode confidently down our streets on my bike. I struggled for months and months to ride my bike without the training wheels. Apprehensively, I waited for the day I would ride full speed alongside the big kids, who peddled ferociously, then once gaining enough speed, released their hands and coasted down the streets with no hands on the bars. I awaited the day I could ride alongside them, trailing behind them, riding without a destination. More importantly, I learned and gained two important life skills along the way. My elders explained to me that things take time and that patience was a virtue only few people mastered. Secondly, I learned that perseverance was what made all the benefit of the world. So I practiced and practiced, until I felt the confidence deep within my belly. The butterflies stirring within my stomach, telling me I was ready. So at 7 and a quarter(late for my age), I squealed with excitement when I was ready to take off the training wheels. And when they came off, I took off. Zipping and weaving in and out from the sidewalk to the road, peddling as fast as my little feet could go, not looking back, but forward in no place in particular. I let the cool breeze whisp around my cheeks and the pride that filled my innocent mind, pushing me forward on my adventure of freedom.

Just like learning to ride a bike, I learned to build healthy relationships and to construct colorful memories.

Furthermore, the small things I aquired became apart of me, things I collected and stored for the future, and they just so happened to be as rewarding as they said they would.